


I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cannibalism, Explicit Description of Cannibalism, Felching, M/M, Murder, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Saturday nights belong to Jack and Jack alone.Brock indulges in good food and even better company during a darkly decadent evening with his deviously delightful boyfriend.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> A gift for the wonderful, lovely, amazing Kalika999 who is honestly my muse and I was so excited to be paired with her. Food, Tenderness and Sex were the options she picked.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it dear! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Title from Bad Things by Jace Everett

Saturday nights belonged to Jack and Jack alone.

On a typical week Brock saw Jack upwards of three times a week when they went on various outings with friends. Double dates and what have you. But Saturday’s Brock took a taxi to Jack’s building, waved hello to the doorman and inserted the keycard in the elevator for access Jack’s penthouse. 

The doors opened to the foyer where Brock would hang his coat and toe off his shoes. He never had to announce his presence but Jack always knew. And tonight was no different. After he hung up his black pea coat and smoothed out his shirt, he padded down the hallway into the living room where the lighting was low and the television was off. Music played in the background, deep and pulsing but too low to do more than heighten the mood already set in place.

Brock found him in the same place he did every Saturday — the kitchen.

Wearing a nice dark button down and dark washed blue jeans, it was the chic casual that only Jack could attain and it made Brock anxious to peel off every layer and relish the skin beneath. “Hi,”

Jack didn’t look up from the pineapple he was cutting up, long pale fingers wrapped around the dark wooden hilt of a knife that was far too large for such a job. But it was like an extension of his hand, a blur of silver and a satisfying sound of sliced pineapple. 

“Hi.”

Brock went to the silver faced fridge and helped himself to a beer, sliding up to the marble bar opposite of Jack’s workspace. A pile of a sliced pineapple wafted pleasantly at him. Brock cracked open his beer and watched the mist curl up from the rim of the bottle and vanish into the air. His eyes strayed to Jack and then back to the pineapple. 

“You trying to tell me something?”

“It would be a crime to change the way you taste, darling.” Jack said, the corners of his mouth pulling upward into the dazzling smirk that stole Brock’s breath. “It’s for our dinner.”

Brock’s tongue swept against his bottom lip, the familiar rush of nerves jolted down his spine. “And, uh, who’s for dinner?”

Jack finished the final portion he was cutting and set down the knife. It’s blade caught the decorative lights lining the counter and Brock had to look away only to have his eye caught by Jack’s. He looked utterly delighted and that made a warm feeling unfold in Brock’s stomach. 

“A lovely young woman who was in the wrong place at the right time.” Jack stepped around the island to take the blender from the cupboard above the sink. 

Brock watched him, eyes following his movements. He was entrancing, even the way he moved was predatory — silent with an undeniable power. A year ago Brock probably would have run screaming in the other direction but something about Jack Rollins had drawn him in and the taste of human flesh was a deliciously sinful secret they shared. Where others saw a monster, a murderous psychopath, Brock saw his boyfriend of eight months and, undeniably, the love of his life. 

“What are you doing?” Brock asked as Jack began to toss the pineapple complete with its skin into the blender. “I hope you don’t expect me to drink that. Isn’t the skin like, poison?”

“It is not, like, poison.” Jack smiled as Brock flushed in faux annoyance at the higher parody of his voice. “You’re not drinking it either. Pineapple has a bromelain enzyme which is a tenderizer. Our meal tonight was very found of cardio and muscles that work — ”

“Are tougher.” Brock cut in proudly. He had learned quite a bit from Jack’s little cooking lessons.

Jack hummed but soon the whirl of the blender was all Brock could hear. He slipped off his stool and stepped around the counter, Jack meeting him and catching his jaw in his hand. His fingers were a bit sticky and smelled of sweet pineapple. For a moment Jack simply held his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration as he studied Brock’s face. At one time these moments made Brock nervous — what if Jack decided he would make a fine meal? — but now he knew better. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jack finally said softly before he leaned forward.

This kiss, like every kiss, awoke every nerve in his body. He threw his arms around Jack’s neck, a low noise of wanting rising in his chest as he pulled their bodies close. His dick was starting to harden in his pants as Jack broke their lips apart and began to nibble the small of his throat. Maybe it was the added danger that had Brock so delirious with need but far too soon, Jack was drawing away and turning off the blender. 

Brock’s breathing was erratic, his heart pounding against his sternum. Through hooded hazel eyes Brock watched Jack open the fridge and remove a single Pyrex dish with a piece of meat lying inconspicuously in the center. Visually the cut could be easily mistaken for beef. It was thrilling and terrifying, enticing and revolting and Brock loved it. 

Jack poured the blended pineapple over the meat and placed it back in the fridge before he ran the tap over his hands to wash away the pineapple juice. Brock reached for his beer, the cold glass grounding him. 

Jack dried his hands on the gray towel draped over the oven handle and then turned to face Brock, expression unreadable but a playful glimmer in his eyes. “How was the trip over?”

“Same old, same old.” Brock wanted to touch Jack. He always wanted to touch him, but tonight the urge was insatiable. “How long for the, uh, tenderizing?”

“Two hours. Why, do you have some ideas on how to fill the time?” 

“Maybe one or two,” Brock said, setting aside his beer. He crossed the space between them, hands pressing against Jack’s chest, fingers digging into the firm flesh there. 

Jack hummed, the vibrations tickling Brock’s mouth as he kissed the soft of his throat eagerly. The bristles of his five o’clock shadow scraped over the sensitive skin, flushing his lips to a deep pink flush. 

“Wanna tell me more about these ideas of yours?” Jack drawled, turning Brock around to press his back against the fridge. 

The cold metal seeped through his tee, a sharp contrast to his heated skin. Goosebumps rose from his olive skin as Brock released a throaty moan. Something about being handled by Jack made everything more erotic. Perhaps it was knowing that Jack could hurt him but that he wouldn’t, perhaps it was knowing that Jack had hurt others but he’d never hurt Brock. Whatever it was, it was like a drug and Brock was addicted to it. 

Jack’s hands slid down his sides and then back up, under his shirt. Just the sensation of his fingers running along his skin made Brock arch his back, an unabashed groan released from deep in his chest. His dick was hard and far too cramped in his pants. 

“Please,” Brock begged. “Please.”

He couldn’t even formulate the words for what he wanted — what he needed. 

“Okay baby,” Jack lifted him with shocking ease and Brock instinctively wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist to cling on. “I know just what you need.”

Brock caught his lips greedily, Jack’s tongue made broad invasive strokes in his mouth, licking his teeth before he withdrew, teeth furrowing lightly into the plump flesh of his bottom lip. Brock’s eyes drifted shut, lost in the delirium of lust and suddenly he was being lowered onto the bed.

His heated body sunk into the memory foam immediately and Brock cracked open his eyes to admire his lover looming over him. His dark was slicked back, green eyes dark with lust and almost dangerous. His lips were kiss swollen, drawn up in a smirk that made his devious intentions well known. A pale scar stretched from his chin to his bottom lip and Brock wanted to kiss it. He tried to but Jack avoided his lips with precision, kneeling over him and pushing his shirt up to expose his torso.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jack said again, eyes roaming hungrily over tanned olive skin and compact muscle. “Sometimes I could just eat you up.”

He leaned down, hovering over one nipple. His breath was warm and moist and his body reacted, hardening his nipple to a small firm bead that Jack took tenderly between his teeth. The tip of his tongue flickered teasingly along the sensitive nub, the gentle pressure of his teeth heightening the sensation. Brock whimpered, a truly undignified noise that he couldn’t contain even if he wanted to. 

His thighs spread as wide as they could with Jack’s knees on either side and a thin sheen of perspiration began to gloss his skin. His cock was unbearably hard, aching to be touched. Jack released the swollen bud and hummed in satisfaction at the bright red results before he moved to the other, fingers stroking teasingly from his navel to the band of his Calvin Kleins. 

“Don’t tease me,” Brock managed to whine between his breathless gasps at Jack’s ministrations with his tongue. “I’m so fucking hard Jack, please.”

“Don’t rush me,” Jack said simply, voice firm and unwavering. “You’re mine to enjoy on Saturdays.”

Brock exhaled thickly, well aware of that but still thirsty for his touch regardless. It was the most blissful suffering imaginable as Jack’s lips travelled from one nipple to the other, tongue dragging between the ridges of his abdomen. 

“You always taste so exquisite,” Jack murmured. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, Brock Rumlow.”

Brock could only moan softly in return because the tips of Jack’s fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking the sensitive skin of his groin, touch just centimeters from the base of his swollen cock. 

Finally, finally, Jack popped the button on his jeans and peeled them down his legs, slipping from the bed to lovingly peel his socks from his feet — far too slowly, folding his jeans and setting them on the gray chaise by the window — then crawling back over Brock’s naked lower half to lift the tee bunched under his arms and under his chin off his body. 

Brock was practically boneless with pleasure, desperate for more. Jack always made Brock desperate for more but each time always felt the first. Their lips connected once more, stealing the bit of breath Brock had managed to collect. It felt wrong to be so exposed with Jack still dressed but Brock belonged to him on Saturday nights. Tomorrow he could strip Jack down and ride him until he couldn’t stand but tonight Jack was running the show.

Jack made his way slowly down his body, as if his intention was to kiss every inch of his skin. He had every intention of simply enjoying it but with his cock aching for release, it was hard to exercise patience. 

Finally, when Brock’s head was swimming in sensation and common sense was lost in thralls of pleasure, he felt the feathery light touch of Jack along the shaft of his cock. Brock mustered his last but of strength to look down at Jack who was staring intently at his erection and the clear drop of precum that had beaded from his slit. 

Brock dropped his head back to the bed, drawing his legs to and splaying his thighs encouragingly. A low dark chuckle bubbled from Jack who lowered his face over Brock’s cock which bobbed teasingly, begging to be engulfed in the warm heat of Jack’s mouth. Soft lips molded around the purple mushroom head of his cock, tongue lapping over the sensitive tip. Jack’s fingers stroked along its length, dipping down to lightly knead Brock’s balls. 

Brock began to pant, thighs trembling and toes curling into the light gray sheets beneath him. Brock wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, gripping his own hair and then curling into fists in the sheets. 

Jack’s finger slipped down along his perineum, stroking the diamond shaped space lovingly. Brock moaned again, throaty and needy as the pad of Jack’s thumb brushed along his tightly puckered hole. Under a soft, steady pressured stroke, the muscle began to relax. All the while Jack’s other hand ran along his cock and his lips provided a soft, steady suction. It was purposeful in its intention to keep him hot and needy and just shy of being enough to make him cum. Brock wanted to hate him for this wonderful torture but it was hard to maintain a line of thought. 

Jack’s thumb began to catch on the rim of the relaxed muscle and Jack drew away which made Brock whine in opposition, the sudden abandonment nearly hurt. The wet tip of his cock cooled rapidly in an uncomfortable way and his throbbing dick ached for friction. 

“Jack,” he whined watching him prowl to the side table.

A small bottle of water based lube was set on the table and Jack began to undress. It lacked grace but it was still a work of art. His lithe body was solid, limbs much longer than Brock’s but toned. The soft lighting from the corner lamp smoothed the shadows into soft curves. Brock watched him with hooded eyes as he took the bottle and rounded the bed where Brock was sprawled. 

He climbed on the bed, catching his mouth in another fiercely passionate kiss before he drew away, flicking the cap and squeezing a generous dollop of the slick on his fingers. Jack smeared it over his loosened hole liberally before he slipped the tip of his index finger into him. It slid in easily, Brock groaning at the sensation he had sought since his arrival. 

Jack withdrew and Brock’s hole clamped greedily down on the retreated digit. Jack’s lips curled upwards in a smile and Brock felt the tip of his middle and index finger pressing against his hole. The slick fingers met slight resistance before they sunk into his hot, tight channel. Brock moaned as Jack’s fingers explored deeper and deeper, looking for that special spot. His back arched at the burn of three fingers, and then four, the tip of his middle finger brushing his prostate. Sparks of pleasure slipped up his spine, his dick getting impossibly harder. Jack squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his dick, working it along his length.

The blunt head of Jack’s thick cock pressed against his hole, subtle pressure popped the head through the tight ring of muscle which molded beneath the ridge of his mushroom tip. Jack breathed out a sigh of pleasure, hands sliding along Brock’s exposed thighs, working his hamstrings lovingly. His hips pressed forward, working his length deeper into Brock. 

A long drawn out groan burst from Brock’s chest, back arching from the bed. Jack slipped an arm under Brock’s leg, lifting and shifting his body to the side so he could bottom out inside Brock. For a moment they remained still, a connected unit. When Brock drew in a breath, Jack exhaled. For a moment they simply felt each other. Jack relishing the squeeze of Brock’s insides around his dick and Brock reveling in the fullness that was almost overwhelming but just right.

Then Jack began to move. Long thrusts stimulating his prostate, almost punching out the gasps from Brock’s chest. “Jack,” he breathed, lips searing for a kiss. 

Jack leaned forward, settling balls deep inside of Brock and swallowing his gasp with a passionate kiss. Jack pulled his mouth away, panting, with their foreheads resting together. Their eye contact was intense, like Jack was looking into his very soul. But within that deep, hungry look was adoration that Brock had never seen before. He felt vulnerable and pulled apart at the seams...and he loved every moment. 

“I’m close,” he whispered, his core tightening and his balls drawing close to his body. “I’m gonna cum Jack.”

“Wait,” Jack growled. “Come with me.”

Brock sobbed out a moan, nodding weakly. It seemed like an impossible task, the cacophony of sensation almost too much to bear. Jack withdrew, a slow drag of painful loss until just his head rested inside of Brock. Jack relaxed a shaky breath that Brock mirrored before he was thrusting back inside him. 

“Cum,” Jack nearly snarled the word, his hand slipping down to grip the root of his cock, the pad of his thumb rubbing over his slit.

Lights danced in front of Brock’s eyes as the pressure was finally released in the sort of orgasm where his scream was soundless and his breath froze in his chest. Jack’s groan was practically a growl as his cock throbbed inside Brock and heat seeped inside of him. 

“Fuck,” hissed Jack, lips pressing against Brock’s which were loose and pliable. “Fuck, I love you.”

As the aftershocks were coursing through his body, Jack withdrew, gently shifting him up to his knees so he could watch his cum dribbling from his red slackened hole over his balls. Jack swiped his tongue up, catching his cum and then spitting it back into his hole to watch it once more.

Brock was hardly aware of it, head swimming in cotton and bliss. Apparently satisfied, Jack shifted Brock into his hold, folding him against his chest and dragging him up to the top of the bed so his head could rest on the pillow. Jack kissed his temple, smoothing his hair as he whispered soft nothings in his ear. 

Brock just enjoyed the tenor of Jack’s voice and his comforting warmth against his back as he slowly journeyed from euphoria to reality. By the time Brock was back aware of his body, he had been wrapped up in a down comforter and the savory smell of dinner was wafting around him, cutting through the warm musk of sweat and sex. 

He got up, limbs heavy, and wandered across the room. The glossy wooden floors were cold on his bare feet as he slipped on Jack’s shirt. It hung around his frame, the hem of the tee brushing his thighs as he wandered into the en-suite to see the state of his sex mussed hair. He made a half-hearted attempt at fixing it before his growling stomach had him heading for the kitchen.

His beer had been discarded and Jack was dressed again, leaning down with the oven door open — the reason for the mouth watering smell. 

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” Jack didn’t even have to look to know Brock was there. Their connection seemed telepathic at times. “Come over here.”

Brock approached Jack, who straightened up and wrapped an arm around his middle, pressing a kiss to his neck and tucking him beneath his chin. A dark sauce was simmering on the stove, aromatic and sharp with a hint of something Brock couldn’t quite place his finger on. 

“It smells good,” Brock said, voice husky with sleep. 

“So do you,” Jack stirred their sauce before he picked up a small spoon resting on the granite countertop and brought the sauce to Brock’s lips. “Blow.”

Brock did so, watching the steam dissipate. Jack brought the spoon to his lips and Brock obediently opened his mouth, molding just lips around the spoon. The flavor was bold and decadent, cinnamon in taste but the texture was smooth and soft as velvet.

“What is it?” Brock asked, licking his lips as the taste slowly vanished. It has kindled his hunger and he wanted another taste. 

“Blood sauce.”

He knew better than to think it was animal blood but it didn’t bother him. Not anymore at least. “So why are we eating a tough cut?” 

Brock was so used to Jack preparing on the best of the best, it was a strange deviation. Jack prided himself on what he created, his dishes were an expression of him, a true picture of a wildly intelligent, deviously handsome and frighteningly cunning killer. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the dinner.”

Brock’s eyes widened a fraction. Despite telling himself never to be surprised by what Jack did, sometimes Jack’s choices took him off guard. 

“You’re going to serve...her?” 

“Mmhm,” Jack smiled, adding a drizzle of black truffle oil which vanished in the deep dark sauce as he folded the viscous liquid into itself. “Everyone enjoyed my steaks at the barbecue.”

Brock laughed in disbelief. It was like anyone would know but still, the sinful knowledge of what Jack was serving was sure to leave him hard and uncomfortable all night long. If he wasn’t so drained his cock probably would have perked up. 

“You’re something else,” Brock finally said. “But I love you.”

Jack kissed the top of his head. “And I love you.”


End file.
